Howzat?
by sangga
Summary: Spike and Giles find they have something in common - watching the cricket


Title:HOWZAT?  
Author: sangga  
Category: funnyfic  
Characters: Spike,Giles,ensemble  
Rating: M15 - for language (although I think you've probably heard it all)  
Spoilers: S4 onwards  
Disclaimer : I don't own 'em, just borrowed them, etcetc  
Summary: This story developed because I couldn't believe that two male English characters could spend almost 3 seasons alongside each other without even a word about the cricket scores - it's unnatural... ps - howzat is a cricket term, guys (meaning to be caught out)  
  
Copyright E. Marney 2001  
  
  
A shrill unholy screeching rang throughout the entire house, and Giles sat up in bed abruptly. The noise faded in and out, sometimes mellowing to a whine, then rising again to a high-pitched shriek. Giles got out of bed, and listened carefully as he pulled on his trousers. This demanded investigation or he was never going to get any sleep.  
  
He cracked open the bedroom door, looked out, and then began inching along the corridor - the shrieking ceased momentarily, and the sound of voices began, then the noise started up again. Giles realized with dismay that the whole thing seemed to be emanating from his living room. The light was on up ahead, and he peered cautiously around the corner.  
  
The room was empty except for Spike, who was sitting on the couch in front of the coffee table, playing with the dials and knobs of Giles' old Bakelite. Things were becoming clearer - Giles relaxed, his shoulders slumping with tiredness, and he emerged into the living room giving Spike a look of long-suffering annoyance.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?"  
  
The blond vampire looked up briefly, then returned to his task. The cigarette in his hand fluttered ash down onto the carpet.  
  
"What does it look like? I'm tuning the radio."  
  
He twiddled a knob, and a piercing whistle emerged. Giles looked even more pained.  
  
"Should I ask why?"  
  
"'Cos your reception's crap. Can't hear anything but buzz. I think it's your position - stuck in a valley, it's always a bitch."  
  
Giles massaged his eyes for a moment - having a conversation with Spike was like herding cats. He enunciated slowly.  
  
"Spike - why are exactly are you doing this?"  
  
Spike looked at him with disbelief. "What - you don't know? You've definitely been in this country too long. Either that or spending too much time with the Slayer has affected your mind. The Test, man - the bloody Test!"  
  
Giles blinked at him. "By this you mean the third Test match."  
  
Spike, cigarette now dangling from his lips, just gave him a brief look of disgust before continuing with the radio. "No - your brain function test," he muttered. The radio hissed and spat, and he looked up.  
  
"Of course the third Test match, you twat! What else would I be talking about?" He peered suspiciously up at Giles. "You do follow the cricket don't you? - or is the toffy accent and the tweedwear just a put-on?"  
  
Giles sighed. "No, it's not a put-on, and yes, I do follow the cricket." He raised an eyebrow. "Though obviously not as obsessively as you, it seems."  
  
Spike finally gave up on the radio. "Well, I don't know how - this wireless is rubbish."  
  
"Well then, perhaps you could watch it on the television."  
  
"Yeah right - what, you mean to say you have a cable?"  
  
"Actually, I do."  
  
It gave Giles a great deal of pleasure to see Spike's eyes go wide.  
  
"You're joking. Ye gods, you're not joking - then what are we waiting for?" He stood and slapped Giles on the back. "I'll go get us a couple of lagers from the fridge while you get the telly sorted." Then he headed excitedly for the kitchen.  
  
Recovering from the over-enthusiastic back-slapping, Giles stood in a daze for a moment. Then his mood brightened, and he turned his gaze to the television. Having Spike camped in the house was a bother - but this could prove to be the antidote. And Giles hadn't watched late-night cricket with a fellow Englishman for ages...  
  
  
Buffy, Xander and Willow tramped up to the door of Giles' house. It was way early, Buffy thought guiltily, but this was an emergency. Sort of.  
  
"Besides," Willow said brightly, "it's not like Giles isn't used to keeping odd hours."  
  
They stopped at the door, and Buffy turned quickly for some reassurance. "So you don't think Giles will mind being woken up for this?"  
  
Xander took in her hand-wringing. "He can't be mad 'cos your car broke down."  
  
"Not even 'cos I forgot to fill the radiator?"  
  
"Giles often forgets things himself. "Willow pointed out. "I'm sure he'll understand."  
  
Feeling better, Buffy returned to the door, and missed the glance Xander and Willow exchanged behind her back.  
  
"Hey, there's a light on. Guess we won't be waking him after all - phew."  
  
And there was a flickering glow at the window. Not quite a light though - maybe a lamp...  
  
When Buffy pushed on the door, it swung open quietly. The Scoobies looked at each other, then slowly and carefully made their way inside. The living room was dimly lit by the corner lamp, and a blue glow. There was the sound of voices, and muttering, coming from near the sofa. As the Scoobies approached there was a muffled roar, and then a familiar voice cried "Howzat!", followed by another equally familiar voice exclaiming ""Rubbish!", and cursing volubly. They rounded the sofa, following the stream of swear words, to see Giles, in his dressing gown and pajamas, propped up on the sofa in front of the television and smiling happily. Even more bizarre, next to him on the sofa was Spike, besocked feet up on the coffee table, a cigarette in one hand and what looked like a glass of beer in the other. It was Spike who was cursing of course, and the closer they got, the more mellifluous he became.  
  
"...bloody, fucking dim-witted, half-brained, blagging wanker of an umpire, stupid twat who can't see two fingers in front of his face, if that's out I'm the son of a sweaty coalminer - actually I am the son of a coalminer, but that's besides the point..."  
  
Buffy cleared her throat noisily and the two men jumped and looked up. Spike spilled beer on his black jeans and started cursing again, but more quietly. Giles looked guilty at being caught fraternising with his evil house-guest, and proffered a greeting.  
  
"Uh, hullo Buffy - Xander - Willow..." He held up a plastic bowl. "Pretzel?"  
  
"What?" While Buffy looked flabbergasted, Xander helped himself to pretzels with an appreciative grin.  
  
Willow was checking out the television. "Hey, I know this game - I mean I've never played it, but I've seen it."  
  
"Oh, have you?" Giles looked back at the TV and was instantly distracted. "Then have a seat and I'll explain it to you."  
  
"What are you doing?" Buffy spluttered.  
  
"I would have thought it was obvious, Slayer," Spike remarked acidly, his eyes glued to the TV. "We're watching the cricket. Live. Australia vs India." He glanced briefly at her. "Or rather we could, if you lot would be quiet and let us hear the commentary."  
  
Xander, noting the general air of male sports ambience and feeling quite at home, edged round Buffy and sank himself into an easychair. He gestured at the screen. "Who's winning?"  
  
Spike glanced at him. "Nobody knows. It's only day three of a five day test."  
  
Xander was amazed. "You mean those guys play like that for five days? What kind of a game is this?"  
  
Giles chipped in helpfully. "Well they don't actually stay out on the pitch for five days - although it would certainly make it a bit more challenging -"  
  
"I'd pay to see that," Spike murmured thoughtfully.  
  
"- but the game itself is made up of five day matches held in different countries all over the globe. Think of the World Series - but where other world countries actually play each other."  
  
"Wow. And it's not even your home side playing - you guys are pretty keen-o, huh?"  
  
There was no reply - Spike and Giles were deep in contemplation of a piece of play, oohing and aahing at something not quite obvious to the other three audience members.  
  
Buffy, thinking that the whole thing was too weird, looked for a place to sit. She addressed Spike, and indicated the wide, upholstered arm of the sofa closest to his side. "Mind if I park?"  
  
"Suit yourself, princess."  
  
She settled into her spot, the two of them exchanging wary glances.  
  
Willow, in the other chair closest to Giles, reached over for some pretzels. "So it's only on late at night?"  
  
"Ah, no, but this match is being played in India," Giles pointed out, "therefore, sun's rotation and so on. But it is often on the telly quite late, and I rarely watch the broadcasts because...well, I've been rather busy, and because there's nobody to discuss the day's play with, and er..."  
  
"-and because it's not much fun watching team sports on your own, I guess," Buffy suggested delicately.  
  
"Well - yes. Nobody else seems to understand the game really."  
  
Spike sipped his beer and piped up. "And you can't even discuss it in America - nobody knows what the bloody hell you're talking about."  
  
"Although," Giles remembered, "there was that young Bengali chap who worked in the Sunnydale library - with the extravagant moustache. We used to catch up on the scores occasionally."  
  
Spike frowned, reaching for the memory.  
  
"I haven't seen him about lately," Giles said. "D'you know the fellow I mean?"  
  
Now Spike was nodding in recognition. "Oh yeah, I remember him."  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Yeah. Drusilla said he tasted like poppadums."  
  
"Oh." Giles' face fell. Spike did his best to look apologetic.  
  
Xander tried to clear the air. "So - how does it work? Those guys in white pitch the ball, and the other guys - also in white, curiously - bat. The purpose being...?"  
  
"Well, they don't pitch, they bowl," Giles said. "The ground itself is called the pitch actually."  
  
"-and the purpose being to score as many runs as possible without being caught out, bowled out, yorked, or hit LBW," threw in Spike helpfully.  
  
Xander tried not to look confused. "Okay. Thanks, that clears things up a lot."  
  
Willow was watching with interest. "You said it was like the World Series - so who's the best team?"  
  
Spike and Giles glanced at each other and muttered. Then Spike looked up decisively. "England."  
  
"So who's the best player?"  
  
Giles thought about this one. "Well, at the moment there's a lot of good players, and there's a lot of good batsmen or good bowlers, but, perhaps...er -"  
  
"Bradman," Spike said with finality.  
  
Giles looked like he disagreed. "Well, he was an excellent batsman, I'll admit, but do you really think -"  
  
"Yes, I do. You weren't even born in 1932, and I was at the bloody game, so I think I can speak with a bit of authority."  
  
Buffy interjected delicately between the two. "And - he was English?"  
  
Giles looked shamefaced. "Australian, actually."   
  
Willow tried again. "So...who's England playing?"  
  
"Well, they've just won a match against Sri Lanka. After that they'll be playing..." He and Spike looked at each other again, and then they both said, gloomily, "Australia."  
  
Buffy, Xander and Willow took in the grim faces, then looked at each other and shrugged. Buffy remembered her original mission. "Actually, Giles, I came by to see if you could help me with my car."  
  
Giles was rapt up in the telly again and replied distractedly. "If you don't mind, could we wait until play breaks for tea? It shouldn't be long."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Xander was confused again. "What kind of a game breaks for tea?"  
  
No-one replied, so the Scoobies settled in for a spot of cricket-watching...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The living room was getting lighter - the sun was coming up and Spike was yawning. He tried to stretch, and discovered that, not only had the Slayer sunk down onto the sofa beside him, but that her head was resting on his shoulder. He and Giles looked around at the others - asleep to a man. Willow was curled up in her chair. Xander's head was thrown back and his mouth was open, gentle snores emerging.  
  
Spike shook his head. "No stamina."  
  
Giles just shrugged and rubbed his neck. "Oh well, I suppose I should help Buffy with her car."  
  
Spike glanced down at the sleeping girl, hair falling over her face. "She probably just forgot to fill the radiator."  
  
"Mm. Well, that was rather enjoyable, I must say. I haven't sat up and watched the cricket for a good while."  
  
"Well, now I know you've got the cable -"  
  
"Don't even think about it." But Giles didn't look stern enough to be convincing.  
  
Spike grinned. "Only 'til the next match, Watcher."  
  
"I'm not guaranteeing anything, of course, " Giles said.  
  
Spike's face took on a look of pleading dismay.  
  
" -but next time, you bring the pretzels."  
  
THE END  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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